


Research, and Development

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mystery, Southern United States
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-08 11:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Arthur, on sabbatical in the middle-of-nowhere Virginia, becomes fascinated by a local eccentric after spying a mysterious pair of graverobbers outside his home.Who is Alfred F. Jones, and what is he hiding?
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

When Arthur’s agent announced she’d found the perfect hideaway for his sabbatical, and at a hilariously low price, he’d figured there was some sort of catch.

“A lot of love has been put into this place,” the realtor had gushed, voice and image grainy over the wireless connection. She turned the camera about the small kitchen, murmuring about countertops and original hardwood floors. “It may not boast the most modern touches, but everything has been updated an is in working order. The heat especially, it’s toasty in here!”

Arthur scoffed a bit. The home was in the southern U.S., which he had never visited, but imagined to be downright tropical compared to drafty London. He wasn’t worried about the heat, or the countertops.

“I’m just looking for something quiet. Isolated. But er, safe. No cannibals.”

The joke went over a little too well, and the edge of the realtor’s laughter sent alarm bells ringing in Arthur’s head. “I was going to save this ‘til the end, but I’ll show you something…”

The image was a blur of browns as she moved through the house. He heard the sound of a door opening, then the screen flashed as the image adjusted to the light outside. “If you want quiet, you’ll love the neighbors.”

* * *

Really, the States, especially the southern ones, were a bit unfairly dragged in the British media. Everyone had their teeth and at least high school educations, and Arthur hadn’t been chased away with a gun a single time so far.

Most of all, everyone left him bloody well alone. The only other people occupying this rural corner of country were as stand-offish as he, and Arthur felt a beautiful sense of calm when he managed his weekly grocery trip without exchanging more than a few words and head nods with another human.

He had done it at last. He’d settled down, cracked open his worn-out laptop, booted his word processing software, and _started his novel. _Only some eight or nine odd years later than planned. He was practically giddy.

Everything was smooth as butter. Perhaps the January cold had more bite to it than he’d given it credit for, but otherwise, he was content in his hideaway. 

And he loved his neighbors. After all, who wouldn’t want to occupy a house nestled right up against a cemetery?

Stiffs were certainly preferable to the living.

* * *

There was someone outside.

Maybe he shouldn’t have mocked the guns so much.

Arthur had woken near 3 in the morning with a start, confused and overheated, fumbling for a bedside table back in London. A stumbling trip to the faucet for a drink had brought him to the kitchen window overlooking the slanted, crumbling shapes of the less-tended gravestones closest to his property. Among them, framed by moonlight, was a person.

He tried to calm down and invite rational thought to politely evict mindless fear from the driver’s seat of his brain.

They had tools, clearly. They were hunched, and even covered by the scant bushes shielding the house from the short fence surrounding the cemetery, the motion of their actions was clear.

They were digging.

Rational thought bowed out gallantly, and Arthur slipped down from the window like a cowardly Peeping Tom. Who could be out there digging, among those ancient stones? 

Before he could crawl away, he heard a muffled voice shout out gleefully, followed my excited chattering. A low murmur answered, and Arthur realized he was dealing with not one, but two graverobbers. That was surely what they were up to. Why else would they be digging up an old grave in the middle of the night?

Crawling outside of the view of the window, he straightened up and slipped into the bedroom, parting the curtain to view the strangers from another angle. He should call the police. He’d have to call the police. It’d take forever for them to get there, and the criminals would certainly know he’d been the one to call, and they might just be some poor chaps down on their luck, poverty was terrible in these parts—

He held his phone, but made no motion to dial the unfamiliar three digits. He could barely make out the figure of the man descending into the earth. How long had they been out there? And why were they being so loud? _They must believe the house to still be empty, _he thought.

“Al, please, hurry.” A gravelly voice came clearly through the pane. The new angle obscured his vision, but he could hear them better from here.

Suddenly, there was a terrible mechanical noise, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Moments later, the second man came into view, and the pair’s actions became indiscernible in the dark.

When they were done, he heard another mechanical whirr, but could see nothing. The men departed quickly then, the higher-voiced male remarking that something was “perfect, exactly, completely what we’ve been looking for!”

Long after the two had gone, Arthur relaxed at last, dropping his phone to the bed and idly checking the locks, fear forgotten in favor of curiosity. Fully awake, he sat down at his keyboard, suddenly inspired to take his story in a new direction.

* * *

The next day, Arthur was observing the site of the robbery with some fascination, scuffing a boot at the packed earth, when a creepy European man accosted him.

“Ah _verdammt!_ What has happened here?” Arthur looked up to find his personal space invaded by a tall, muscular albino man. “Do you know something about this?”

Arthur stepped back and gave the other man a once-over, frowning. He was in what looked to be fatigues with their insignia removed, his white-blond hair protected by a ridiculous sunhat. He shook his head at the sight of the disturbed grave.

“Of course I don’t. Why should I? I merely saw that something was strange over here from my window this morning.”

The stranger raised his invisible brows. “You live in that house there? Tell me, have you seen anything else strange?”

Arthur shook his head. “I haven’t seen a thing. What are you doing out here, anyway?”

The man gave him a close-mouthed smile that made Arthur shudder. “It’s good you haven’t seen anything. If you do see anything, look away from it, alright? You aren’t like the awesome me. You might not be able to handle it.”

“Beg pardon?”

The man had already turned away. “It’s nothing to worry about! You’re only here for a little while, right? Keep to yourself like the rest of us.”

As Arthur scrambled for something to say, the man turned to regard him with a smirk. “That’s what you came here for anyway, right, Arthur?”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can tell you that the cemetery belongs to a, uh, J & W Holdings, but there isn’t anything more I can find. It’s been there forever, I found a reference to it on some museum page from the 1800s.”

Arthur didn’t respond, opening a second tab in his browser and typing _J & W Holdings_ one-handed.

“It’s pretty big, there’s a second part to it you can see on Google Maps. It goes back into the woods. I’m just not sure who is using it out there. And why there are so many, uh, newer-looking graves…”

His agent trailed off. Arthur paged through the irrelevant results, adding _Virginia_ to the search and trying again.

“No, not _West_ Virginia, damn it!” he cursed.

“Arthur, I can find you another rental property, _without_ a scary boneyard attached. Just say the word.”

“Are you joking? This is fascinating. I’ve stepped into some sort of mystery story. Hopefully not a murder one, but still.”

“But you’re writing _romance_.”

Arthur waved his hand. “Why limit ourselves with labels? I’m writing a cross-genre romance mystery, Southern historical fiction, black comedy. Maybe.”

“It was supposed to be set in France!”

“Why limit ourselves geographically? It could be set in space.” Arthur exited the tab, returning to the website for the closest library.

“Did you say that they knew _your name?”_

* * *

The Liberty County library was a refreshing blend of quaint and modern, a white-pillared brick construction housing a multitude of low shelves and humming computers. Nestled in the back corner was the Historical Room, a collection of archival and genealogical records, lovingly kept in unassuming scrapbooks and beneath glass countertops.

Arthur reverently thumbed at an enormous set of bound maps. The librarian had been delighted by his interest in the cemetery, and had loaded his arms with finding aids and ring binders and handwritten notes, leaving him to his own devices once he’d made it clear he knew what he was doing.

As the glow of daylight dampened to orange and cool blue, he leaned back and took stock of his findings.

J & W Holdings, or Jones and Williams Holdings, had been around since at least the early 19th century. They seemed to buy a lot of land, occasionally get involved in industrial matters, and sue people. The court records were difficult for Arthur to parse, but plenty.

The cemetery had been around for centuries as well, though references were few, and limited mostly to obituaries noting someone had been interred there, though these dropped off in the 1970s. It was called Union Cemetery, was noted to contain the remains of a textile mill owner and his wife, and had been the site of an “improvement project” in the 60s. Yawn.

The descriptive note for the contents of the box containing information on the cemetery had claimed it held notes on its origin and history, but these were missing, much to the dismay of the silver-haired woman manning the desk, who had tutted and marked down his concerns, suggesting he check the microfiche tomorrow, a subtle hint that the library was closing in a half hour.

Arthur was ready to call it quits anyhow. It was an hour drive back home, and he’d contributed nothing to his word count for the day. As he gathered the materials to return them to the desk, one of the binders cracked open, and a piece of paper fluttered slowly to the floor.

Cursing, Arthur scrambled for the paper, dreading the ire of its guardian. He cradled it delicately, turning it over to find a newspaper clipping.

> ** _June 24th, 1981_ **
> 
> **JONES AND WILLIAMS HOLDINGS ANNOUNCES CLOSING OF FREEDOM LABS**
> 
> After 5 years, the contract researching outfit is hanging up its lab coats, leaving an  
estimated 10 - 15 Liberty County citizens without work.  
The labs have been the subject of controversy in Liberty County for the entirety of  
their 5 year stint, with locals complaining of power surges in homes and businesses  
near the complex, which sits ominously atop a hill on Wicker Street, in the same spot  
which housed the equally mysterious J & W Research Complex some years ago.  
Perhaps the controversy surrounding the labs has little to do with the business,  
and more with their lead scientist, the young and infamous Alfred F. Jones, a UVA grad  
who holds a Ph.D. in Biology. Just last year, Jones purchased the long-abandoned Dogwood  
Manor, leading to some dismay in the community as the historical home was revitalized,  
before being closed off by an impenetrable wrought-iron gate.  
Whatever the cause, Freedom Labs will be closing before the end of this year, with no word  
on future plans for the site or its million-dollar equipment.  


* * *

As Arthur gazed at the elaborate twisting gates marking the road to Dogwood Manor, he felt perhaps things were moving more toward romance than mystery.

But the story had hit a very literal roadblock. The gates were sealed shut, and two white security cameras were perched overhead, blinking LED lights just daring him to try anything.

What was there to try anyhow? It’s not as if he’d be able to work up the nerve to use an intercom had there been one present. What could he say? _Sorry to bother, just an Englishman in Virginia obsessing over a cemetery next to my rental house. Say, would you happen to know anything about that?_

In truth, though he was hoping he could catch a glimpse of the historic home, he’d mostly wanted some fresh air and a trip through the countryside. Even in early February there was green everywhere, and when he’d heard the house was on a literal mountain—a small one, but still—the lifetime Londoner had thought it was a good excuse to commune with nature.

So he admired a pair of somewhat gaudy gates, out-of-place in the splendor of the forest, and turned back, wondering if he could find a decent grocery store on his way home.

As he cut up chicken for curry, he made a mental note to get curtains for the kitchen window. He should probably heed the advice of the stranger who knew his name. Something nefarious was afoot, sure, but why should he want a part of it? He really was acting like a character in a mystery. But this was real life. He could get hurt. Or, if J & W was really involved, at least sued.

He’d let it go. He’d look the other way.

He’d come out here to be left alone, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad y'all seem to be enjoying so far! Don't forget to leave me some comments telling me what you think!  
Thanks for reading. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Someone was knocking on the door.

Arthur was standing on the other side of it, watching them through the peep hole and sipping his tea.

Maybe his agent was right, and the isolation was making him a little nutty.

But that was definitely a short Asian man with a bowl cut, right?

Arthur wondered if this was more _X-Files_ or _Twin Peaks_. Either way didn’t end well for him, did it? The curious foreigner. The hopeless wannabe author.

He opened the door.

“I sincerely apologize for my intrusion.” The man said in a soft voice. His eyes were shiny and near blank, and didn’t quite meet Arthur’s. “Please forgive me.”

Arthur shuffled his feet awkwardly. The man was wearing a well-fitted blazer, pressed trousers and shining shoes. Arthur felt quite out of sorts in his ratty University sweatshirt and slippers. “It’s alright. Can I help you?”

The man smiled serenely. “Thank you. I have come to extend an invitation to Arthur Kirkland. Your presence is requested tomorrow evening at the Dogwood Manor.” Arthur finally noticed the stationery the man was holding out, taking it hesitantly. The man tucked his hands behind his back once he’d done so.

“I’m sorry, but who issued this invitation? How do you know my name?” Again, Arthur tried to catch the man’s dark eyes. Where were his pupils?

The serene smile crumpled, and the man looked dismayed. “My employer prefers to make his own introductions. I apologize again, it has been a while since I have had the chance to announce myself.” The man bowed low, the top of his pristine black hair barely missing Arthur’s chest. “My name is Kiku Honda. My employer owns this property, that is how he knows who you are. He would like to meet his tenant.”

_Sure, that’s convenient. He just happens to own the—_“Wait, he owns the property?” How had he not thought of that before? It followed that whoever owned the cemetery owned the house, sure. And that might explain why this strange gentleman knew his name, but what about the albino man?

“Yes, he owns this house, as well as the cemetery attached. It has been in his family for many generations.” The man’s strange eyes seemed to spark for a moment. “I hope you will accept his invitation. I will not intrude any longer—”

“I—wait, does your employer…have anyone working the cemetery?”

Kiku tilted his head slightly. “Of course. The grounds must be kept. My employer ensures that the cemetery is maintained to the best of his ability, despite its isolation. Has it not been to your satisfaction?” He frowned severely.

“No no, it’s just that—well, I think I’ve made a right fool of myself.” Arthur huffed out a laugh. “I was quite worked up, out here on my lonesome. I suppose I’m used to the bustle of London, and when I saw someone in the cemetery, I got a bit…er, overly concerned.” He winced.

Kiku nodded his head a mite too enthusiastically. “You saw Gilbert then. Yes, he can be intimidating. I apologize on his behalf, if his personality offended you. He is a unique individual, but he is a trustworthy man. My employer does not hire untrustworthy people.” Kiku smiled again. “I am sure my employer can answer any other questions you have. Please, join us tomorrow. I will leave you for now.”

With one last bow, the short man turned precisely about and headed toward a sleek black car idling in the gravel drive.

Arthur watched the car move out of sight before retreating inside, still clutching the stationery. As he waited for the kettle to boil for his second cuppa, he opened the plain blue envelope and pulled out the invitation inside.

It was on the sort of perforated printer paper he hadn’t seen since his adolescence, and it sported a tremendously badly rendered image of a bald eagle in flight. Beneath that, in a hideous bubble font it read:

**YOU ARE INVITED!**

We are so happy you have chosen 2 rent from us. We would love 2 meet you and treat you 2 a great meal. Please visit us at the Dogwood Manor at 6 P.M. tomorrow evening. We look forward 2 meeting you! 😊

Arthur snorted audibly, one handing clamping over his mouth as he burst in to a fit of giggles. So that’s all this was. He had an eccentric landlord living in a manor on a mountain, who hired equally eccentric weirdos to handle his property. Still, it was pretty interesting stuff. Hopefully the man wouldn’t be cross with him for failing to turn in the trespassers in the cemetery. Surely the groundskeeper—Gilbert, Kiku had called him—had handled it, and perhaps mentioning it would get the albino man in trouble.

Arthur studied the silly invite again, wondering what sort of ancient computer had designed it. Should he go and see for himself? But he’d decided to stay uninvolved. How much time had he wasted, chasing inspiration he wasn’t using?

He poured the water over the tea bags and carried the lot to his laptop, slapping the keybar the wake it up. The screen came alive, showing him the 40 pages he had already, the cursor winking slowly at him, waiting for more.

Really, what was the point in pretending he wasn’t going?

* * *

The driveway leading to the gates of the manor was illuminated by glowing streetlamps, casting the twisting iron in an ethereal glow, heightened by the faint glow of the setting sun behind. Arthur took a deep breath, bringing the car in closer, and exhaled in a rush as the gates opened before him, beckoning him inside.

The driveway turned more elaborately than the gates had, sending Arthur up and up the mountain, his eyes glued to the twisting road. Thank god he had experience driving foreign cars. Eventually the road straightened out, and the house came into view.

It was as gorgeous as he’d expected, tall and broad but not ridiculously so, a tasteful display of early 20th century wealth. The mansard roof was an odd dull grey, but the rest of the house was perfectly lovely, and the windows glowed warm and friendly. Really, Arthur’s agent had overreacted when she demanded he call her within a few hours or she’d send the police.

Arthur pulled in behind a gorgeous green convertible, the gearhead in him fascinated by the unfamiliar make. Before he could investigate, a side door opened on the house and a man came bounding down the stairs.

Arthur offered a hesitant smile as the man opened his car door and stepped aside to let him out. “Ah, thank you. Really, there’s no need for such formality!” he tried to laugh, but the man looked disappointed.

“I do suppose it may be a bit much.” Arthur felt so guilty at the other’s man tone. “We get so few visitors, you see, so I’d like our hospitality to be top notch!” The man smiled.

Arthur nodded. “Of course, I—er, that is, thank you for having me.”

As Arthur stepped out, the man closed the car door and gestured to the house. “I’m Toris, by-the-by. Al—I mean, the owner, is running a little late.” Toris looked exasperated. “I thought you might like to see a bit of the house before dinner. Or we can mix you a drink, and you can enjoy the game room! It’s up to you, really.” Toris paused as they reached the door, opening it and ushering Arthur inside. “We do hope you’ll make yourself at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Happy holidays. What y'all thinkin' so far?


	4. Chapter 4

The house was predictably beautiful, clean but obviously lived-in. It was actually quite vivacious, with a bored-looking blond man popping in and out of rooms to argue with Toris in Polish, a huge bespectacled man following the orders of a tiny man in the kitchen, and a dark-skinned, well-dressed fellow being berated by an Italian man in the living room. The former winked when they passed by, causing the latter to erupt into even more furious chatter.

“Quite the full house. What do all these lads do around here? Are there any—well, is there a lady of the house?”

Toris turned a corner, opening the door to a room housing a lovely aquarium and a multitude of succulents beneath a heat lamp. “We are…wayward souls. There are women about, but women, they tend to make their own way. What I mean to say is, they’re a little better at taking care of themselves. Do you know what I mean?”

Arthur did not, but he nodded agreeably anyway.

Toris didn’t buy it. “Our employer is a very gracious man. Too gracious, maybe. He helps people in need, people who could not be helped, would not be helped by anyone else. Women, they’re a little too smart to get in such situations, usually.”

Arthur nodded a little more confidently, and Toris bought it this time. They did their round of the small room, and on the way out, were attacked once again by the Polish-speaking man.

This time, he spoke in heavily accented English. “Supper is like, ready? They’re going to the dining room, like, now.”

* * *

Arthur had been meaning to try the oft-celebrated dishes of the American South, but had not gotten any further than braving the closest greasy spoon for hashbrowns and chicken-fried steak. It appeared he need go no further, as every food known to man was set before him.

The food distracted him momentarily from the dining room’s other occupants. He was taken by surprise, then, when a tall, beaming man clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to jolt.

“Hey now, stud, don’t start! Gee, I hope we ain’t as frightening as all that!” The man exclaimed cheerfully, extending a hand for Arthur to shake.

It was shaken, quite exuberantly. “I’m Alfred, Alfred F. Jones. That there—“ he tossed his thumb behind him, to a near-identical looking man, already seated at the table. “is Matthew, my brother. Him, he doesn’t say much, one of those strong silent types.” He most certainly was not, and indicated as much with an exasperated eye roll. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours too much about it, though. You get yourself some of this killer diller grub.” Alfred smiled so hard it looked painful, but it was genuine.

Arthur offered a tentative smile in return. “I’m—thanks for having me, I’m Arthur, you know, haha, of course, since I’m—living in your house, and. Well. Thanks for having me.” Arthur was feeling a little over warm, and pushed his sleeves up a bit. The two months of near-isolation made the house overwhelming, and Alfred’s laser-like attention was making his knees shake. It didn’t help that he was, in short, totally gorgeous. Tall, broad, blonde and shiny as an American penny.

He took Arthur’s awkwardness in stride, one hand staying on his shoulder as he guided him to a seat. “Of course we know ya! And damn, if we’re not sorry for taking so long to reach out and welcome ya proper, hope we’re on the beam now!” Alfred took the seat opposite Arthur and immediately began loading his plate.

Arthur glanced at Matthew, seated at the head of the table with a can of ginger ale. The man smiled briefly at him before picking up his own plate.

Alfred snapped his fingers. “Ain’t that a bite, we ran outta chess pie yesterday. Arthur, you ever had chess pie? You know, they say the name came from someone saying ‘just pie’ with a southern accent. Do you buy that? Sounds like hogwash!”

Arthur scooped a few different starchy, delicious looking things onto his plate before studying the array of meat. “We haven’t got that in England, I’m afraid.”

“Fwoo, you’re missing out! Anyhoo, what brings you to these finest states? I’m sure it’s not the pie, but it’s worth it!” Now that Arthur could focus, he wondered if Alfred’s energy seemed a bit nervous.

“I’m on sabbatical. Thought I’d get away from London, see the country. Work on my novel.” Arthur watched Alfred cover everything on his plate in brown gravy. He followed suit.

“You’re an author then? Arthur the author. I like it! Brand it. What do you teach?”

This man seemed exhausting. “I teach poetry and classical English literature.”

Alfred hummed around a mouthful of food. He swallowed, clearing his throat.

“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” Alfred uttered suddenly, eyes downturned, and Arthur’s mouth went dry at the sight, the low warm light of the room filtered prettily through honeyed lashes, and the strange, unreal beauty in the other man’s face when he wasn’t grinning or yelling.

_What the fuck?_

A soft laugh made them both turn, and Matthew broke a roll, and the moment with it.

“What’s that, _Jane Eyre?_ Jane Goodall?” Alfred said around a mouthful of food. “Whatever. Happy you’re with us, Arthur, and I do expect residuals when I end up in the book.”

* * *

Dinner was followed by drinks, and Arthur was unsurprised when they retired to the game room, where Matthew lit a cigar and stepped outside, and Alfred sashayed around the bar to take his order. Really, Arthur would be unsurprised by anything at this point.

Once he was outfitted with rum and a cigar of his own—fine and Cuban, apparently—Alfred settled next to him on a loveseat as Kiku Honda and a newcomer Arthur didn’t recognize engaged in a rather aggressive bout of ping pong.

“Tell me how the house is treating you, honestly.” Alfred’s voice was pitched lower, softer, and he seemed overall more relaxed. “Anything bothersome? Out-of-sorts?”

Arthur thought about the graverobbers, and Gil, and Toris’ vague explanation for all of them being here. “There was something—well, I don’t know now, I worry I went a little mad out there by myself. I might have imagined it?”

Alfred just watched him, sipping his scotch with an eyebrow raised.

“I think someone was in the cemetery one night. It’s been a few weeks now. I’m not sure what they were up to, but I heard voices.”

Alfred studied him still, tongued an incisor. “If you see something like that again, call me, will you? It’s hard to keep an eye on what’s going on out there.” Alfred rolled his glass between his palms, settling his forearms against his legs. “I’d appreciate it if you let me handle it and stay uninvolved. For your own safety, I mean. And feel free to come up anytime, honest. It’ll freak you out being out there too long on your own, man. Shit’s trippy.”

The rum made Arthur bold and stupid. “So does that mean you’re giving me your number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love this Alfred.  
Thanks for reading, lemme know what ya think <3


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